


The Half of It

by EL1237



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), Frozen - Anderson-Lopez & Lopez/Lee
Genre: Don’t ask lol, Gen, Inspiration from a dream, Open to Interpretation, Vague because I write that way, at least until the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EL1237/pseuds/EL1237
Summary: Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	The Half of It

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen.

Once abandoned, a cruel fate awaited them.

She was found on the side of the road, freezing rain soaking into her very bones, though water didn’t wash away the horrific tortures she had endured. Bruises did not begin to encompass the overwhelming swaths of blued and purpled flesh. Cuts didn’t cover the crying maws of deep incisions surrendering her blood. Lacerations did not explain the ruby weeping of torn skin and ripped dermis.

Unconscious, she stayed in the condition for weeks, but injuries mended and scar tissue formed. Her skin, so abused it had been blackened in places, cleared the way skies do after torrential thunderstorms—slowly but steadily, shyly but surely. As time flowed, she began to look more and more like she was simply sleeping. The steady beep of the monitor assured her heart continued to beat. But she didn’t wake. She stayed perfectly still, encaged in the dark arms of slumber.  
***  
One week.

She clutched her soft blanket with the innocence of a child. Nurses gathered around her bed to lavish small touches of affection; she deserved it after all that she went through.

Two weeks

Her condition was improving at a promising rate. Staff became charmed by her. She was dubbed “Sleeping Beauty”.

Three weeks

She stirred on Monday morning. A small shift, and a single desolate sound. Her main nurse kept watch over her for hours.

Four weeks

Multiple signs of consciousness, even if brief. The doctors are hopeful she’ll wake permanently soon. 

Five weeks. 

The heart monitor picked up speed infinitesimally. She woke. 

Hurts visible to the eye had healed over, and with their conclusion, the atrocities invisible to all but the heart appeared. It was the way she curled into herself in fright, the way her eyes filled with liquid pain, the way she shivered in her sleep. It was the way she stayed deathly silent despite attempts to coax any sound. It was the way eye contact with her felt like trying to wedge through a broken window, shards ripping flesh to ribbons.

All that saw her agreed: whoever owned her was a bastard. 

Slowly, she was re-introduced to food. She ate quietly with a heartbreaking look of fear, as if she would be punished for her basic needs. She drank with her eyes up, exhausted yet unable to ease her own wariness. She was bathed gently and spoken to in soft tones for fear of frightening her. The nurses regularly cried at the looks of confusion; evidently, she’d never been cared for.

Nights were the worst. Her dreams tortured her, waking the poor thing abruptly and leaving tears in their wake. After each night terror, she would ball herself up, quivering violently. With the worst nightmares finally came the breach of her iron self-control. It seemed even she could not hold the plaintive sounds of fear and agony in. The only way to soothe her seemed to be grim expressions and an injection of a myriad of painkillers. The tiny sound of hurt, following the prick of the needle, signified imminent sleep as side-effects took their toll. She went limp.  
***  
Mornings were the opposite, hence why night nurses sometimes took her day shift; they deserved to see the glimmer of contentment as she slowly woke. They kept her near a window, and often, she could be seen soaking in warm rays of sun. The waking hours were when progress was made. Tentative reaches were met with less terror and trepidation. Over time, a slowly moving hand with clear intent was allowed to stroke her head, which she leaned into gladly.

Her food was consumed quicker, and with much more enthusiasm. Water was taken with grateful gestures. 

Her recovery was remarkable and helped by the new love she was given. Small steps from her bed were applauded and rewarded. Her eyes shone with new life and a peaceful kind of joy.

Though no one will experience her pain and understand, even though we’ll never know the half of it, we watched with pride as she was taken by a new family. A new start.

Though many of her kind are abandoned to die, more abused, and still more never shown the love they earned, her story is a hopeful one.


End file.
